


Gapeseed

by Spylace



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Body Dysphoria, Body Image, Canon-Typical Violence, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spylace/pseuds/Spylace
Summary: Obito lives.It changes things.





	1. Chapter 1

Lord Gengo looked down at the hot springs, tugging at his ear in disdain. The steaming water made it seem as though there were bodies being boiled alive.

“What is _that_?”

“Those are the salt springs your grace.”

“And that?”

The guide bore the questions with the serenity of a nun—as he should. He was being paid quite generously after all. The brother to the Fire Daimyo was no small person. Gengo had brought an entire retinue to serve him during his stay. The expenses from his village alone would feed the village for months.

“Those are the healing pools. _Excellent_ for health and vitality.”

“What on earth for?” One of his companions huffed, tossing back a mane of gold hair. When Gengo did not begrudge him even a glance, the boy pouted and hugged himself. “They’re halfway in the grave already.”

The boy looked at him once more for approval. He had threatened to faint in the morning when he was woken up early and had been left behind. Now he was trying desperately to crawl back into his good graces and failing.

His other two companions tittered mockingly.

Power was burdensome sometimes. But his companions were easy on the eyes, tall, slim and fashionable. And when they weren’t squabbling or sneering at each other from behind feathered fans, attractive.

“What is that?”

The guide adjusted the spectacles on his boiled face. His guard captain bristled at the proximity.

“That is the clay pool, my lord.”

The guide clicked his tongue when he saw a boy, hip-deep in the bubbling waters.

Most who came to the hot springs were tourists or the elderly clutching at their spent youth. But the young man with a shock of white hair was new. His body lit in neon patches where his skin touched the water and pulled left where it had been smashed.

The women already in the pool, bellies slack from childbirth and breasts stretched like socks, pointed at the shriveled length between the boy’s thighs, assuring him that he was handsome, still very handsome.

Handsome indeed.

For past the scars and the mangled body, Gengo could see that the boy had breeding. The boy looked in his direction. His skin was pale where the villagers were rough and sun-beaten. His ruined face was almost delicate in its youth and when he looked away, his younger companion remarked, “How ugly.” And Gengo’s ribs clenched with a sudden want.

“That one.” Gengo pointed, barely keeping his impatience in check. His guard captain stood at attention. “Bring him to me.”

Only the willfully blind wouldn’t have guessed at his intentions when he had the boy dragged wet and naked back to his manor. The boy was scrubbed until his skin shone, groomed and dressed in silks that marked him a whore. His sleeves were overlong on him and fell past his fingers, hiding the blemish of his split nails.

“But my lord.” His companions protested in unison. “What about us?”

Gengo’s youngest companion sneered at a potential rival. His son, when he saw the boy, appeared even more unhappy. Nonetheless, his purse strings had been tight of late and Gengo saw his argument die on his tongue. Atsui, his wife of twenty years, turned away, briefly mentioning that she would like to try the hot springs.

“Dine with me.”

He thrust an empty cup in the air and at the prompt, the boy dropped to his knees. The boy fumbled with the pitcher in his arm and when he poured, he poured too deep and the sake sloshed over the rim of the ceramic cup, soaking his wrist. He made the boy lick it off.

The boy shivered as he sucked, eyes teary and dark. They were like twin pools in the flickering candlelight. Had he more drinks in him, Gengo may have attempted sonnets in their honor, naming the right, night, and the left, moon.

“Open your mouth.”

The boy opened his mouth. Good. It was always better to take the willing.

Gengo grabbed an oyster and rested its rough shell against the boy’s lips.

“Swallow.”

Could he sense that something was wrong? The boy could not have survived such injuries without an inkling of self-preservation.

He edged a thumb in the soft corner of the boy’s mouth and let it rest there as the boy tipped his head back, mouth open, throat fluttering in anticipation.

A dark sort of satisfaction effused his belly as he drew a cup of sake and tipped it over.

When the coughs subsided, Gengo asked,

“What is your name boy?”

“Tobi my lord.” The boy wheezed.

A common enough name for a common boy.

Tobi swallowed the second cup without being prompted and held out his hand for the third.

He dropped the cup on the fourth.

“My apologies my lord.” Tobi slurred, squinting down at his splayed fingers. “I think I’m drunk.”

The boy seemed surprised.

Gengo knew what came next. He considered himself as an amateur alchemist of sorts. He studied paralytics extensively a long time ago when he was young. When he fancied himsef becoming one of the legendary sannin.

But that was before he learned that there was no glory in dying for a country. A ruler must live in order to reign. And shinobi were merely a tool to be used and discarded. One could have favorites, true. He wondered if it had been the same for the boy whose panic wrote itself in blotches of red ivy down the side of his face.

He dragged Tobi into his lap. The boy was stiff trying to fight off the paralytic.

“Hurts.” Tobi whimpered as the shoulders of his silk yukata slid down, baring skin.

Gengo groped past the knots of blue silk, smiling when he felt the boy squirm and peak under his hands.

“See boy? You’re enjoying it.”

Tobi twitched, pinned against him by little more than gravity. His eyes glazed over and once the lacquered obi was undone, Gengo saw that he was half-mast from the touches, the pain.

Human body was fascinating.

Gengo undressed himself to compare. His family was of samurai stock. Growing up, he had always been the bigger, stronger, the meaner. He should have been the daimyo but for the unfortunate order of his birth.

He laid the boy down on the tatami mats, delighted by how the light played across the shape of his body, making him appear whole and broken at the same time. He ran a hand down the side of his ribs where scars dipped and hollowed out flesh. He pushed it at a little, almost as though he could mold the body like clay, returning it to its original state.

The boy slapped a hand against his elbow in a pathetic mimicry of a protest. Gengo indulged him. Allowed him to grab himself as his cock grew fatted in his hand.

The boy’s eyes were red.

He hissed, “I said it _hurts_.”

 

Guards burst in, summoned by the noise, the crunch of wood and an aborted scream still ringing in the air. Their lord flailed briefly, impaled on a tree trunk. Entrails hung from the branches like festival lights and the boy, his paramour, looked up at the display, drenched in blood.

A shinobi, an assigned bodyguard, nearly fell off the ceiling.

“That’s an _Uchiha_.”  

The guide squinted into the room, at the boy whose brow had turned red, dyed by the blood of the dead lord, skin red and eyes equally red like he was an oni from his grandmother’s tales. He didn’t need to see the commas in the boy’s eyes to know what they meant. The eyes belonged on a demon. When this was over, he would gather priests, a whole legion of them, from nearby temples and have them shake the nightmares from his head. He would shave his head and become a monk if that was what it took to forget.

“Maa,” the boy said, in a voice too deep to be an adolescent’s. “Didn’t anyone tell you it was rude to interrupt?”

 

They didn’t have to wait long.

On the fifth day, the Fire Daimyo deigned to rebuke him in person.

Obito appeared in a flurry of embers on top of them, setting fire to the stack of signed documents, which Minato hastily stamped out, and on the Daimyo’s official silks.

Fire was a common enough occurrence with Obito’s entrances—he’d ordered his haori be fire retardant after the third time. It was an efficient method at erasing evidence and Obito’s method of travel meant that he brought some of it through long before news had time to spread among the general populace.

No doubt by dawn, a messenger would be at the village gates shouting to be let in. Lord Gengo, brother to the Fire Daimyo was dead.

Obito appeared more disheveled than usual. He was half-dressed, his obi was undone, the thick layer of blood barely preserving his modesty.

He tossed an ear on the table like a dramatic shit.

The Daimyo screamed when he realized what it was.

Minato examined the purple mole on the outer edge of the shell.

“And the others?”

“Dead.”

Minato looked over his student with a critical eye. He didn’t seem to be injured. But he read the pattern of ivies on his student’s skin. Someone had tried to hurt him; someone succeeded.

“The contract is complete.” Obito said, discomfited by the scrutiny.

“But he’s a cripple!” The Fire Daimyo interjected. “How.”

They ignored him.

“Well done.” Minato praised, smiling sunnily. “Would you like an escort?”

“There’s no need.”

And Obito disappeared.

Minato sighed. He knew a lost cause when he saw one. Trying to drag an active Anbu agent to the hospital was asking for trouble. An off-the-books assassin like Obito was even worse.

“My brother was a fool.” The Daimyo said in a small voice, looking down at the torn ear.

Minato smiled, polite but unkind.

“My condolences.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Fuck_. Obito thought.

How dare he?

It hurt.

It hurt and it always fucking hurt but he’d asked him to stop.

Why hadn’t the man stopped?

His feet touched the summer-damp walls of the Academy. In the surreal brightness of daylight, his problem seemed far away. He was being stupid. He was the one who seduced his mark. Why would the man fucking stop?

Obito did not retire immediately after being dismissed. He was still sticky with blood. His sleeves smelled like embers. He didn’t have to run. He didn’t even have to gather chakra in the balls of his feet. But it had been so long since he did basic-tree climbing. He kind of wanted to know if he could. And he did.

He ran across the rooftop, sensing two Anbu guards coming up to see what was going on, and didn’t bother slowing down. Instead, as he got to the edge, he bent backwards, fucking up his spine even more in the process, to feel the breath of two shadows launching themselves into the air, both able-bodied nin, the best of their generation, their porcelain masks catching the edge of the sun like a cloth soaked in flames.

The one in the dog’s mask, one eye circled black, the other red, looked down and for a second, their eyes met, sharingan on swirling sharingan and Obito thought, perhaps he shouldn’t have refused Minato’s offer.

Obito melted into a world only he knew and could touch. He’d brought his team in once when he was trying to explain to them where he went on the nights the pain got so bad he needed to tie himself to the bed just to remind himself that he needed to stay there and not fall through his neighbor’s ceiling, not that he had neighbors anymore, and hadn’t that been a fun experience? Minato had kept an eye on him for months afterwards, half-convinced that his student was losing his mind and was about to pull a Madara out of his ass.

“Meow.”

He resurfaced in the bathroom of his one-room apartment which was so Spartan it might as well have been bare. Despite the commission he pulled from private assassinations, the few luxuries he allowed himself was the bed, a custom bathtub he could comfortably drown in and a cat he adopted while sawing off the Third Mizukage’s head.

The cat, bemused by the blood on him, wove worried circles around his ankles. It was cute. Just not now.

“Shoo.”

Obito pushed a hand behind the mirror and groped for pills that sometimes worked, sometimes didn’t, sometimes gave him gas, and tossed a few back, swallowing them dry. He didn’t feel better and he didn’t expect to. But the ringing in his ears was no longer as loud and he felt like he could move without bursting into fragile tears.

The cat followed him with her tail raised in an inquisitive curl. His traps were still in place. He left the pile of mail be to be burned later.  

After making sure that the cat had plenty of food and water, he told her, “be good.” And locked the door behind him.

Should have listened to sensei. Called Rin even. But Obito wasn’t known for his smart decisions—it was how he ended up here in the first place. He leaned back against the tub and waited for the seizures to hit.

 

Obito woke up to the insistent scratching at the door.

“Congrats,” he croaked. “You live.”

He looked down. He was still wearing the shitty clothes that Gengo’s lackey’s dressed him in. They stuck to his skin in alternating patches of blood and vomit that were just now beginning to flake off. Looking at his interested cock in disdain, he told it, “And what the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Meow.” The cat protested from outside the door.

“I’m coming. Fuck. Give me a minute.”

It took him five to climb out of the tub and five more to climb back in. His cock had wilted by then. He fumbled out of the dirtied silk and decided that they also went in the burn pile. The cat could wait. She was white for fuck’s sake. He didn’t want to get stains on her or anything.

He turned the water on as high as it would go and sat there under the hot spray, rubbing his eyes because he’d gotten something in them again.

After a while, his cat, having had enough, jiggled the door open like a ninneko and paced around the front of the tub, worried that he was scared or whatever cats worried about when staring at gallons of water pouring down from the sky.

He grabbed a bar of soap and had just enough mobility to wash himself. His mouth tasted gross but the blood was gone, the vomit was gone, and he no longer smelled like he slept on a pile of trash after a three-day bender. He was chalking it up to a win.

He struggled into the thickest bathrobes he had and crawled into bed. His back ached. He would pay for it when it woke up but he dozed against the cat’s weight around his neck and fell asleep.

 

“ _Obito! Are you alive in there?_ ”

He was but something in his mouth wasn’t.

Rin entered his apartment in a whirlwind, slamming groceries on his too-tiny kitchen counter before pulling him into her lap.

“You missed Taji’s session today. She asked me to drop by.”

Lies. But he didn’t call her out on it. He liked it when Rin fussed over him. He really did.

“M’ sorry.” He mumbled, chasing the scent of citrus and water lilies.  

“You look terrible.” She announced.

“I feel terrible.” He acknowledged as he was rearranged into a corpse pose.  

Reconstructing half of his body hadn’t been easy. The doctors had taken shortcuts to give him quality of life and sometimes those shortcuts flared up.

If only his victims could see him now.

Rin frowned at him.

“You need to talk to Sarutobi-san about this.”

“She’s going to say, deal with it.”

“Did you try?” Rin asked, her voice flat.

“No.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because she’ll say no.” Obito answered lamely, stubbornly, because he didn’t want to have this conversation.

Sensing his distress, the cat mewed.

“Oh Yuki, what am I going to do with him.” Rin said out loud, wiggling her fingers in front of the cat.

A shuriken dodged. Inwardly, he sighed in relief.

“Don’t call her that.” He complained. “She’s going to get confused.”

“She needs a name Obito.” Rin said reprovingly. “What happened to you anyway?”

Obito turned over with a grunt.

“So it turns out that I still need to work to eat and pay for stuff like water and electricity. Or that door.”

Rin climbed on top of the bed, bracketing his hips.

“I offered to replace it you know.” She reminded him. “Twice.”

“I know.” He grinned. “I just like bringing it up.”

“Ass.” Rin said with warmth.

“And what brings you to my humble abode?”

“I can’t visit?”

Rin dug her thumbs under the clavicle.

He let out a hiss.

Rin couldn’t practice medicine anymore. Not since Isobu whose presence thrummed from her fingers in watery chakra. The three-tails stirred uneasily beneath her skin. Aware of who he was; aware of what he was.

No one would trust their lives to a jinchuriki medical-nin. If it hadn’t been for his mokuton, he doubted that she would have either.

“I know you’ve been kicking ass in the training grounds. Or interrogating Taji on whatever new punishment she’s thought up for me this time.”

“They’re not punishments.”

“Sure felt like them.” He grumbled when Rin’s chakra pushed against the pressure point in his spine, pulsing once before setting off the tangle of chakra coils pooled there.

A soft whimper escaped him as his back popped, audibly. He went limp. All tension drained from his body as Rin leapt off of him, afraid that she’d done him some irreparable harm. Immediately, he felt himself surrounded in chakra. Almost as though someone had run him a warm bath. Rin’s chakra vibrated against his bones until he found himself slurring, “I, I’m okay Rin. I’m okay. I hurt my back earlier. I’m okay. I’m fine.”

He sipped the neon pink straw as it was offered and tasted sweet citrus hitting the back of his throat.

Rin’s eyes flashed in concern. Her hands swiftly ran over his forehead, behind his ear and down the side of his neck.

“I’m okay.” He repeated.

“I’m not okay.” Rin said. “I’m not okay with you being hurt. I’m not okay that you’re alone every assignment. What happened?”

It took him even longer to find his voice this time. Rin was unable to practice but he was an Uchiha. There were precious few who wanted to treat an Uchiha never mind one that was clinging to life with the skin of his teeth, raving about plant people and Madara Uchiha. He was lucky Root didn’t take him in when they discovered Shodaime Hokage’s cells in his body. Or even Orochimaru.

Rin knew him best. She knew all his tells.

His lips wobbled and he rubbed his eyes.

“Oh, Obito.”

“It’s not like that. Something got in my eyes.”

It upset him to see Rin upset. Rin shouldn’t be upset. He shouldn’t upset Rin.

“How are you?”

“Pretty bad.” And that was the most honest answer anyone could expect from him except the cat.

Rin brushed his hair back.

“Can I continue?”

“Please?”

The hand on his thigh didn’t even feel that embarrassing anymore. Of course, this was exactly when Itachi wandered in.

Obito knew what it looked like. He knew what it would look like to him if he’d walked in on a man and a woman, a red halo around his ears, her hand too high on his thighs.

“You two are way too comfortable with each other.” Itachi observed as he set yet another pile of groceries down on the ones that Rin brought. “What if I’d brought someone? What if it had been Sasuke?”

“Except I’ve heard what the kids say about me. No way your coward brother is going to come all the way up here.”

Itachi shrugged but didn’t deny it. It probably made his life easier if his brother was too scared to stray far from their mother’s apron strings.

“Hold still.” Rin scolded. “Even your knots have knots. Now you know what happens when you don’t do PT after assignments.”

Camera flashed.

“What?” Obito spat out the pillow. “What was that?”

“Blackmail.” Itachi answered blandly. He took another picture at a different angle. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing risqué.”

“Oh, can you send me a copy of those?” Rin asked, straightening out Obito’s knee.

Itachi blushed.

“Of course Nohara-san.”

 

Afterwards, he offered to take Rin out for lunch which she declined stating that she had errands. But she did make sure that he got a glass of orange juice and fried rice in him before she left, teasing the cat and calling her ‘Yuki’ again.

“You should come drinking with us later.” Rin called later from the training grounds, barely out of breath as she handed one, at least two Anbu agents their own asses.

Obito winced when he heard an abortive scream.

“Thought you were busy.”

“Come on,” Rin wheedled. “Raido broke up with his girlfriend again.”

“I don’t think Genma appreciates you calling him that.” Obito demurred but he could never deny Rin anything.

And since he was going out, he changed into a plain, cotton yukata for the occasion. Zippers were a pain. Buttons were worse. But yukata and maybe shorts, he could manage those with one hand. He wouldn’t need his prosthetic at all if he could just keep his wardrobe free of flak jacket and armor.

What knife could touch him anyway? If an assassin could get at him through a lineup of Konoha’s best jounin and tokujo, they probably deserved the kill.

 

It was nice. Going out. Alcohol went down easily. It didn’t always.

Sometime after they started drinking, Raido had migrated into Asuma’s personal space and began crying about how he would never love again. Kurenai shot Genma a glare and Genma raised a glass in toast. Yugao kissed Rin on a dare. As he finished his glass of plum liquor, Obito saw Kakashi at the periphery of his vision, nursing a drink of his own. Kakashi was staring.

Obito nibbled on a skewer.

Unlike with him and Rin, his relationship with Kakashi had stagnated over the years.

With Kakashi as an Anbu captain, Rin a jinchuriki wrecking ball that no one messed with, and him as a teleporting assassin for hire, there was no need for them to be a team—or stay as a team. He had no animosity towards Kakashi. They weren’t even rivals. He thought Gai had the job well in hand. And he wasn’t about to take his eye back in spite of his clan’s massive disapproval. He already had two working eyes.

It wasn’t guilt.

He’d made sure of it way back when, freshly escaped from the hospital, beating sense into Kakashi’s rock-hard head.

The usual vices weren’t working. His Shodaime cells—they were _his_ cells dammit—processed the toxins in his blood stream into inert waste. It took a potent cocktail of chemicals just to get him anywhere near the hemisphere for a surgical prep.

He sat on the bench outside, letting the smoke wrap around him in inquisitive curls. And when he saw a man pass by him for the third time, mousy, dull, a merchant with embroidered sleeves and furtive eyes, he snagged the saffron and cream threads between his fingers and grinned.

“Hey Mister, you wanna have fun?”


	3. Chapter 3

Obito had a secret.

It wasn’t much of one. It was hard enough keeping track of the important ones. But living in a village where information was currency, his, like many others, wasn’t worth the paper it was printed on.

Sure, he had a poison scare or two. Being a part of a prominent clan did that to you. Too many people thought he made an easy mark. Wanted his eyes and body for something other than recreating the plot of _Icha Icha Paradise_. Privately, he blamed Itachi’s cooking. But with the Shodaime’s cells grafted on the side of his body, there wasn’t a type of poison that could keep him down too long. It was the same for drugs. For alcohol. The medicine for his seizures.

Taji tried. Sarutobi Biwako tried. Grudgingly. His body just didn’t take. Not the fermented snake meat from Kusa nor the tea leaves ordered special from Kumo. For the days that nothing worked and he woke up bathed in sweat, groping past the sheets with a phantom limb as his body sank through the floor, he had sex.

Obito paid for sex. Sometimes, he got paid for sex. Whichever was more convenient. There was no shame in it. He didn’t get demoted on the Bingo Books because he turned tricks on the side. He was still a badass S-ranked jounin for hire. Iwa even added an addendum on their Bingo Books advising their shinobi to run in the other direction.

Hah, as if that could save them.

He didn’t have a favorite hooker. He didn’t have a pimp or an establishment either. Being a cripple was enough to turn away most of his clientele. Those that sought him were the worst. Ones who could afford to look twice and wet their lips for the taste of broken things, of ruined things.

He grunted as muscles loosened in his left thigh. His latest john was a giver—he sure knew how to pick them. Should have bucked up the extra ryo for a professional if it meant that his treacherous cock was left alone. He just wanted to be fucked dammit. Not be fondled or have his balls played with.

“Turn over.”

The room was ugly. Obito was classy like that. Took his dates to places where the wallpaper puddled around the molding and mushrooms peeked out from dark corners like the phases of the moon.

The john slobbered over his cock a little more. Mentioned offhand he thought it would be bigger which was almost enough to incite Obito into kicking him out the window. But the john was a paying customer and demanded his pound of flesh. Obito opened his legs lazily, showing him the goods and the tight pucker at the end of his taint. He curled a finger inside even though his back was rigid with pain. Encouraging the john to take a look. Letting him know how easy it was to push inside. He was already open, slicked up and ready for him. And like an animal, tempted with bait, the john leaned in.

Obito threw his head back as he was breached, toes curled, knees tucked around a doughy waist. The noise in his throat proved irresistible to the john who smoothed his way with sweat and come, the tip of his cock pushing against a spot that threatened to unspool his entire body.

Chakra diffused the air. His own. Distinct. It bounced off the john and his degenerated coils, not even enough chakra in them to light a candle on fire. He felt his neighbors, also partaking in extracurricular activities. The maid, who was hurriedly cleaning up a bathroom a floor below and Kakashi.

His eyes flew open as his body tensed. The john mewled as he came, cock stuttering as it emptied itself in the hot clutch of Obito’s body. The john gripped his hips hard. It would leave bruises on top of the pattern of ivy that had taken root in his right side. Obito couldn’t think.

Was he looking? He shouldn’t be.

The john pulled out of him, wet and sticky. It smeared across the top of his thighs and inside of his knees. Hastily dressing himself, the john threw him an extra hundred ryo for his discretion. Obito would have laughed if he had a mind to. But he quietly tucked the bill away in the empty sleeve.

Kakashi was waiting.

Obito sighed when he saw Kakashi standing at the door like a lump. It was hard to tell what his ex-teammate thought of his habits. Most of Konoha thought that Obito was bumming off his relatives. From his Anbu duties, Kakashi knew different. Not enough to know that he got sent out on the regular to take out the trash, so to speak, but enough.

At least he hadn’t beaten up the john this time.

Obito tried to walk past him. It had been a long day. He was tired.

Kakashi grabbed his arm but dropped it when he sent lightning chakra flooding his coils.

“What the hell Bakakashi.” He snapped. “What the hell do you want?”

“You had sex.”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I can have sex too.”

For some reason, whenever Obito was around Kakashi, he degenerated into a good-for-nothing thirteen-year-old on the cusp of adulthood. It was infuriating.

“Rin said.” Kakashi said.

“Oh now you listen to Rin.” He grumbled.

“She said that you were in pain, would you stop interrupting me?” Kakashi said in exasperation.

“No.”

He was starting to get a headache. And the day had started so promisingly.

“She said that this helps you.”

Obito would have words with her later.

“Yes Kakashi,” he said saccharine sweet. “It helps when people fuck me through the floor.”

If Kakashi was offended by his choice of words, he didn’t show.  

“It’s not safe.” Kakashi concluded.

“I’m a fucking S-ranked jounin. Bingo Books tell people to run in the other direction if they see me. The hell I can’t handle a bunch of civvies.”

Kakashi’s lone, visible eye sparked in recognition. Shit, Obito had said more than he was supposed to. Kakashi had always been smart. He’d have to ask Minato to schedule a longer job this time. Soon.

“What is this all about anyway?” Obito asked. “You’ve never cared before.”

Kakashi fell silent.

Obito made a move to leave.

“I’ll pay you.”

“Whaaaaaat?” Once he recovered, Obito said, “You, Kakashi, the bane of my existence—“

“—Thanks dead-last.”

“—voted sexiest Anbu captain.”*

“—you’re not supposed to know that.”

Kakashi was a little pink and a little more than smug.

“—want to get it up with a cripple?”

Kakashi sighed.

“I didn’t say I would pay you for sex.”

“In the context of things, you kind of did.” Obito pointed out.

“You’re not.”

“I’m a what?”

“You’re not a cripple Obito.”

Obito shrugged.

“I mean it.” Kakashi said, looking cornered. “You’re a worthy rival.”

“You’re going to make Gai cry.” Obito observed. “Also, who are you and what have you done with the real Kakashi?”

“Is it so terrible to believe that I might want to have sex with you and that I might be willing to pay you for it?” Kakashi asked reasonably.

"This is a trick question." Obito wasn't about to fall for it.

Kakashi sighed, very much put upon. 

"Think about it."

"I won't." 

Kakashi crinkled his eyes. He might have even been smiling.

"You will."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Anbu, because they're still human beings with feelings, swap around an in-house newsletter of their own. It's usually inane gossip. Occasional eulogies for a dead pet or a comrade. Warnings for people who are sneaky enough not to get caught eating other people's food in the fridge.


	4. Chapter 4

Obito did not think about it.

He did not think about it on the way home. He did not think about it under the showers. He did not think about it while jerking off because the john hadn’t bothered to get him off in the end.

He didn’t think about it while feeding the cat. He didn’t think about it to the point Rin got annoyed and volunteered to ask Kakashi how much he was willing to pay.

“I’ll charge him double.” Obito grumbled.

“That’s a bad business plan.” Rin said primly. “You’re supposed to foster loyalty in your client base.”

“He what?” Itachi asked, eating dango straight out of a wrapper like a mini barbarian. And to think he thought Itachi had needed protection and help after what happened with Shisui. Grumbling, Obito subsided after a push to his shoulder.

“Go home Itachi.”

Itachi smiled beatifically.

“I will tell the captain you’re thinking of him.”

Obito was not.

He wasn’t thinking about it.

And he still wasn’t thinking about it three weeks later, flattening a hunter-nin against a tree and stealing his prey. The man flashed his shark-like teeth, fingers digging into the black wood of Obito’s left arm and Obito smashed their foreheads together, porcelain screeching against metal, and watched him blink his pale eyes, completely taken aback.

“Forgetting something?” His target hissed, swinging his horse-cutter into Obito’s spine. It passed through harmlessly, barely ruffling the pinwheel trim of his borrowed haori.

When the tip of kubikiribocho tore into the earth, Obito spun around, taking advantage of the utter shock on the missing-nin’s face, and drove a fist into the man’s painted jaws. The missing-nin rag-dolled into several nearby trees, losing grip on his danto.

“Let’s dance.” Obito grinned and allowed his body to be folded into kamui. He could read bewilderment on the missing-nin’s face as his attacks passed harmlessly through him. Almost as though he wasn’t really there.

Biwa Juzo leapt backwards and in his place, six water clones sprang to life. They kneaded identical chakra with their breath but it didn’t matter. Because Obito was a sensor and he always found his mark.

He took a kunai from inside of his sleeve. It was all he needed to kill Biwa.

“Wait!” The hunter-nin shouted. He held his hands up when Obito turned around. Obito wasn’t used to hunter-nin being _polite_. “Biwa Juzo was one of ours; he will face Kiri justice.”

“You’re kidding right?” Obito snorted, voice muffled under his mask. “Your village had its chance.”

And while he was distracted, Biwa gathered his fingers and slid his left palm over a downward fist into dog. The missing-nin spat out a molar and rasped, “ _Suiton_ : Daiteppodama.”

“Crap.”

Obito dove out of the way as balls of chakra detonated like bombs in midair. The blue chakra rolled across his mask and the porcelain cracked down the middle, splintering into diamond dust. The mask wore away into nothingness as the Biwa reclaimed his sword, intent on taking his head next.

The horse-cutter struck the hunter-nin’s sword with a dull clang. The sheath peeled away, layer by layer, unveiling a sword as large as kubikiribocho and somehow more terrifying. It had a toothy maw where its point should have been. And instead of being made of steel, it bristled with spines, almost like a living thing.

Biwa laughed.

“Protecting the enemy Kisame? You’ve changed.”

“My orders are to bring you back.” The hunter-nin grunted, forcing Biwa back.

Biwa did not like the answer at all.

“Then I take your sword as well!”

The two swordsmen were evenly matched. Biwa moved in a swirl of red and white clouds. Kisame tore through Biwa’s water clones with sheer, brute force. They clashed and the impact uprooted the grass from their feet.

Kubikiribocho snapped off at its middle, the broken piece spinning somewhere out of sight.

The hunter-nin drew first blood. Biwa jerked back from where the sword rested just beneath his collarbone, having shredded his hooded cloak.

Samehada made a pleased noise and began sucking chakra from the man.

That was his cue.

Obito kicked the Kisame aside, bringing his kunai against Biwa’s throat.

“This one’s mine asshole.” And proceeded to gut his target like a mahi mahi.

Biwa choked as he was cut from neck to ball sack. His intestines spilled out. He fell to his knees, trying to keep his belly closed.  

Obito picked up half of Kubikiribocho and cut the man’s head off.

Ah, this was a problem. He thought, forgetting his lack of love life for the moment. Obito sat down in the puddle of blood and pried a ring from Biwa’s still twitching arm.

He held the ring up to the light. It was yellow with the character for ‘south’ stamped on the bezel.

There had been whispers of an underground movement that had spilled over from Amegakure. His sensei’s sensei had looked lost whenever the topic came up. Something about a toad, a sage, an eye, Obito recalled. A prophesy. Honestly, he hadn’t been listening.

Jiraiya had never liked him. He did not make it a secret he didn’t like him. The only reason they ever met face-to-face because Jiraiya was a tough, old bastard, had his own network of spies and was Minato’s mentor. Obito had suspected the Akatsuki when he saw the red and white clouds on black canvas. Now he had proof.

He took a moment to think.

Didn’t they work in pairs? Perhaps the pair had split up for a target. But who was the target?

Hmm.

Obito looked around for a familiar land mark, a split rock, a misshapen tree, anything.

“Who are you?” The hunter-nin asked, looking faintly green around his cheek markings.

“I’m nobody.” Obito replied. This had been grueling work. Obito was used to making surgical strikes. A honey pot here and there. This one had been a rat sniffing around the edges of Yugakure. In hindsight, he should have just let the Kisame have Biwa. “Hey, do you know what Biwa was doing here?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you have the body.” Obito enticed. He only needed proof of death. He put the ring on his thumb.

The hunter-nin circled him warily. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“I’m sure you have more important things to do.” Obito picked the dried blood from the side of his face. He needed a mirror; he needed a bath. “Shit, could you point me in the nearest direction of water?”

The hunter-nin shrugged before coughing up a body of water large enough for him to swim in.

“Alright.” Obito said finally, deciding that the lake wasn’t a giant ball of spit.

He stripped and wiggled in, wistfully thinking about the days when he was young and he would take every opportunity to belly flop into the water.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Obito asked. He rubbed a wet palm over the scars on his face where he could swear he had spots of gore drying on his skin.

“I’ve been looking for him for months.” The hunter-nin remarked, toeing the headless corpse of his once upon a comrade.

“Sorry, for what it’s worth.”

The other man sat at the edge of the pond.

“You’re not a Hoshiki.”

Obito frowned, recalling that there had been a page in the bingo books about a swordsman named Mangetsu.

He ran a tongue over his teeth. His teeth were flat. Not like the mist-nin who filed theirs into pointy sharpness.

“Why did you kill him?” The hunter-nin asked. “Bounty? A grudge?”

“Nuh-uh, that costs extra.”

“I provided you with water.” The hunter-nin pointed out.

“Only because I donated the body.” Obito countered.

“I don’t need the body. I needed his sword.”

“Well, you’re welcome.”

The other man asked, “Are you Hatake Kakashi?”

Obito stilled for a moment. He hadn’t activated his eyes. He hadn’t needed to once his mask came off. He could see how the hunter-nin had made that mistake. How many people of his age went around with white hair? Everyone knew Bakashi had a fetish for keeping his face covered. Through the corner of his eyes, he could see Kisame sweat, worried that he had offended somehow.

Obito grinned, all teeth.

“I’m worse.”

 

“No fire today Obito?” Minato asked mournful as ink bled into paper.

“That asshole!” Obito raged. He threw Biwa’s head down as though it had personally offended him. “The nerve!”

Minato made a sort of agreeing sound as he evacuated the really important documents to safety. Minato should really learn to do his paperwork in a safe space. His aide, a tokubetsu jounin named Tessen, grimaced as he examined the head, noted the bar-like markings on the mouth and confirmed the identity.

“It’s him.”

“Excellent work as always Obito.”

A groan was his only answer.

“It’s alright.” Minato assured the spooked aide. “Take it down to R & D and see what they can find out.”

Once Tessen left the room, Minato activated a seal that would make the room soundproof.

“Did he say anything to you?”

Obito pulled the Akatsuki ring off his thumb and tossed it at Minato.

“Ah.”

“There was a hunter-nin after him.” Obito said offhand. “I gave him the body. And the sword.”

“I see.” Minato steepled his fingers under his chin.

“Sensei, I think you may need to consider that Akatsuki are a threat.”

“Was there anyone with him?”

Obito shrugged.

“No, that was the weird thing, for all I know, he took it off some sorry bastard out for a stroll.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“No.”

Minato nodded.

“Find his partner.”

“Sensei, I’m not a hunting dog.” Obito complained. “Well I am, but I already looked. There was no one there.”

The fourth Hokage hummed.

“But you do know a person with nin-ken. Someone who can track individuals. Someone who is aware of your very unique situation.”

Minato’s lips split into a smug grin.

“Eh?”

 

“Yo!” Kakashi greeted him at the gates. He had Pakkun with him.

After giving the dog his obligatory scratches, Obito said immediately, “I’m doing this under duress.”

“I know.” Kakashi replied kindly. With him, he had two jounin. One of which he suspected to be an Aburame and the other an active duty Anbu.

Obito felt uneasy around them albeit for different reasons.

Their mission was seek and destroy or capture. They were in a four-man formation with him as the transport, Kakashi as the leader, Aburame Tatsuko as a tracking expert and Hinoto, no last name given, as their babysitter. Rin was their backup because Minato knew that if this team failed, they had to bring in the big guns. She had a hiraishin shuriken with the marker on Kakashi’s back so she wouldn’t end up stuck in Kamui.

Hinoto barfed in the grass as soon as they arrived.

“This is it.”

The lake had dried up into a puddle. He was kind of disappointed.

“Oh, Kisame’s gone.”

“Kisame.” Kakashi said flatly. “You’re on first name basis with one of the Seven?”

“Yeah, he made this pond for me.”

“I smell blood.” Pakkun grunted before Kakashi could continue. He sniffed gingerly at the dirt. “Matches the head.” He said.

“Do you smell anything unusual?” Hinoto asked, wiping her mouth.

Pakkun was unimpressed.

“Like what?”

“Whatever it was must be long gone by now.” Tatsuko said reasonably.

“Anything out of place.” Hinoto insisted.

“We’re in the ass-end of the land of hot waters. Sulfur springs.” Pakkun scratched his head. “You’ve got to be more specific.”

“Something cold.” Obito said.

“Cold.” Pakkun repeated dubiously, sitting squat on his haunches.

Obito racked his memories for the word. Not of the chase that had ended up with Biwa Juzo’s head but something that had happened to him a very long time ago. Something that had scared his T & I agent so badly that the man had taken an early retirement afterwards.

A body. No, not specific enough. Dirt. Something cold. A smell he couldn’t put to words.

“Look for something dead.”

Hinoto stood up to attention.

Tatsuko stared.

Pakkun raised the ridges of his doggy brows which earned him more ear scratches.

Momentum was building within him. Something he had to get out. He could imagine why Hinoto had been sent with them. Why Kakashi was with him instead of an Inuzuka.

“Something like me.”

“An Uchiha?” Pakkun wondered out loud, wrinkling his face further.

“No.” Obito sat down because kneeling was a special brand of torture on its own. He bit his thumb open. “Like this.”

Pakkun wiggled his butt at the new lead.

“I don’t smell anything like that.” Pakkun said after breathing deep.

“What does he smell like?” Hinoto asked.

Kakashi glared.

“Konoha.” Pakkun decided. “You smell like home.”

 

To cover more ground, Kakashi summoned more of his ninken. Guruko yapped happily when he spotted Obito and bounded over, wiggling his tail in pinwheels over his butt.

“Hey big guy.” Obito said, genuinely tearing up a little. “Long time no see.”

The tan-and-brown hound looked confused.

“But I saw you—“

“Guruko, get to work.”

With a whine, the hound peeled himself away from Obito’s side to help his pack mates.

Tatsuko had her kikaichu out in force. The tiny beetles formed a black cloud that streamed over the grass and around trees, looking for anything that might be out of place.

“And what do you do?” Obito asked Hinoto.

“I look for chakra patterns.”

“Fat good that’ll do here. There’s no one else but us around for miles.”

“You’re a sensor.” Hinoto replied tersely.

“And you’re not—a new bloodline ability?”

“No, it’s a.” Hinoto cut herself off. From behind her mask, her expression was inscrutable. “Clever, Uchiha.”

He laughed.

“I try.”

A little ways away from them, Aburame Tatsuko showing off her bugs to Kakashi who seemed to be listening over a riveting passage on Icha Icha Tactics. Bisuke, one of his eight ninken, was napping on top of his feet.

Tatsuko carefully took out a giant hornet from a gourd around her waist.

“They are fast. They can fly up to 40 km per hour.”

And because he wasn’t thinking about Kakashi and his stupid proposition, he blurted out, “So, you were serious.”

“Well yes.” Kakashi said, turning over a page. His perverted eye winked. Damn him and his stupid mask and what sane person covered up three quarters of their face anyway? “Would I joke about something like this?”

Because he couldn’t leave things well enough alone, he demanded,

“Where do we start?”

“We could start here. Now.”

“Can you two leave flirting to when we’re not looking for a murderous death cult?” Hinoto demanded, stalking over.

Feeling his cheeks glow, Obito pointed at Kakashi and stammered.

“I’m on to you.”

Kakashi leaned forward, still smiling, loose-limbed and ready, “Maybe I’ll be on—“

“I think my kikaichu may have found something.” Tatsuko said hastily, running off.

After giving Obito and Kakashi a suspicious look, Hinoto went after her.

“So.” Kakashi said, kicking Bisuke awake from on top of his feet. “How does being a sensor work?”

“I sense chakra." Obito answered. "You know."

"Does it have to be human?"

Obito frowned, not liking where this was going.

"It doesn't have to be. But unless I'm looking for it..."

Kakashi took something out of Bisuke’s mouth.

It was snake skin.


End file.
